Crime at Bedtime

On the afternoon of Tuesday the 1st of January 2019, a group of beachcombers walking along Jetty Island, a small sandy island in the estuary off Everett, Washington, found a black Timberland work boot half-buried in the sand. It had been in the water for some time. The leather was waterlogged, the laces crusted with silt. Inside the boot was a human foot. Within days, DNA testing had matched the foot to a 22-year-old man from Everett who had been missing for exactly 25 months. His name was Antonio Jordan Neill. On the evening of the 12th of December 2016, Antonio had been picked up from his mother's house by a friend, and taken to an address in the 2400 block of Cedar Street. His mother, Jenny, watched him leave. It was the last time she would ever see him alive. According to the friend, there had been a physical altercation. According to the friend, Antonio had fled the house. Investigators later found blood in multiple locations in the friend's bedroom - on the carpet, on a wall, on the mattress, on the window sill. The blood, when it was tested, did not match Antonio. The friend passed a polygraph. No charges were ever filed. And for two years, until the boot washed ashore on New Year's Day 2019, no one knew what had happened to Antonio Neill. The story of a young man who left his mother's house one December evening in Everett, Washington, and never came home. Of the two years his mother spent putting his face on fliers, on billboards, and in front of any reporter who would listen. And of the black Timberland boot that washed up on a beach on New Year's Day 2019, and finally gave her the terrible answer she had been waiting for.
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On the evening of Thursday the 3rd of May 2007, a British couple on holiday in the resort of Praia da Luz on Portugal's Algarve coast finished dinner with friends at a tapas restaurant, roughly 50 metres from the ground-floor apartment where their three children were sleeping. Kate and Gerry McCann had, over the course of the evening, taken turns checking on the children at approximately half-hour intervals. Their eldest daughter, three-year-old Madeleine, was in the front bedroom with her two-year-old twin siblings. At approximately 10:00 pm, Kate McCann returned to Apartment 5A of the Ocean Club resort for her turn to check. She walked through the unlocked patio door. She looked into the children's bedroom. The twins were still asleep. Madeleine's bed was empty. The window in the room was open. Nineteen years later, Madeleine McCann has never been found. Portuguese police initially treated the case as an abduction, then as a homicide, then closed it, then reopened it. Kate and Gerry McCann were themselves named as formal suspects, then cleared. Multiple men have been investigated over the years, including a German convicted paedophile named Christian Brueckner, who remains the primary suspect of German prosecutors. The case has generated more media coverage than any missing child case in modern European history. The story of the little girl who vanished from Apartment 5A, of the parents whose lives were destroyed by the search for her, and of a mystery that, at the time of this recording, has still never been solved.
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At approximately 7:15 in the evening on Friday the 12th of September 1952, three young boys were playing in the schoolyard of Flatwoods Elementary School, in the small Appalachian town of Flatwoods, West Virginia. It was almost fully dark. One of them looked up. A bright, pulsating object was streaking across the sky. It appeared to descend and crash on a nearby hillside, on the property of a local farmer. The boys ran home to tell their mother, 27-year-old Kathleen May. Kathleen called on her 17-year-old cousin, a National Guardsman named Eugene Lemon. Two other local boys joined the group. The family dog, Rickie, came along. Seven of them altogether. Six boys, one mother, one dog. What they said they found in a clearing at the top of the hill has become one of the most persistently unsettling paranormal encounters in American history. They said they saw a creature. They said it was ten feet tall. They said its head was shaped like an ace of spades, glowing red and orange in the dark. They said it emitted a foul, sulphurous mist that burned their throats and eyes. They said it did not walk. It glided toward them. By the time they got back to the May family home, six of the seven witnesses were vomiting. Their eyes were red. Their throats were swollen. The dog was cowering. The local sheriff came. The local newspaper editor came, with a shotgun. Multiple neighbours reported strange lights that night. Nothing physical was ever found at the site. But for the rest of their lives, all seven witnesses would stand by exactly what they had seen. And nearly 74 years later, no one has ever definitively explained what it was.
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On the morning of Thursday the 11th of December 2008, two FBI agents knocked on the door of a penthouse apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side. The man who answered the door was 70 years old, silver-haired, and one of the most respected figures on Wall Street. His name was Bernard Lawrence Madoff. He had served as chairman of the NASDAQ stock exchange. He had advised the Securities and Exchange Commission on trading regulation. He ran an investment firm that managed money for celebrities, royalty, universities, and Holocaust survivors' foundations. When the FBI agents asked whether there was an innocent explanation for what he was about to be asked, Madoff replied: there is no innocent explanation. Over the previous 17 years, and possibly longer, he had operated the largest Ponzi scheme in the history of the world. It had defrauded his clients of approximately $65 billion. It had wiped out charities. It had bankrupted pension funds. It had led to at least two of his victims taking their own lives, and it would eventually lead to the death of his own son. The story of how one man, sitting behind a desk on the 17th floor of a Manhattan office block, fabricated 17 years of financial statements from nothing, and how the entire American financial regulatory system failed to catch him despite being told, in writing, exactly what he was doing.
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At just before three in the morning on Saturday the 19th of March 2011, a 22-year-old woman named Sian O'Callaghan left a nightclub in the centre of Swindon, Wiltshire, and began the 800-metre walk home to the flat she shared with her boyfriend. She never arrived. Within days, Detective Superintendent Steve Fulcher of Wiltshire Police had identified a suspect. Within a week, he had made a decision that would save one family from years of wondering, deliver another family a second set of remains that had been missing for eight years, and destroy his own career in the process. Fulcher took the suspect, a local taxi driver named Christopher Halliwell, to an Iron Age hill fort north of Swindon. He deliberately broke the Police and Criminal Evidence Act to interrogate him. And there, without a solicitor present, Halliwell led him first to Sian O'Callaghan's shallow grave in an Oxfordshire field, and then, on the drive back to the police station, offered him a second body. This is the story of two young women who died eight years apart, the detective who broke the rules to find them, and the spade in a Swindon shed that eventually put their killer behind bars for the rest of his life.
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